The Artist's Paradise (13 page)

Chapter 2
2
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Angie dragged herself back to the cottage. Her mind whirled with all the elements of her conversation with the professor. His rules would be easy to remember, but difficult to follow. It would be hard to limit her contact with Vicki. Even Jonathan expected to reach her at any time. She hoped they would understand. For the next nine weeks, she would be in class fulltime.

Lunch with the professor offered her hope. He wanted her to succeed, and he believed she would. If he had unusual teaching processes, so be it. She was ready for whatever he had for her.
Plus, he was sure easy to look at, so that was a bonus.  

Angie
rubbed her neck and yawned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept all night. But when she’d mentioned needing time before their first class to unpack and rest, the professor insisted all she required was a power nap. She wasn’t sure exactly how long a power nap lasted—perhaps an hour? She would take a nap and unpack after class.

Fifteen minutes
after falling asleep, she awakened to a soft recurring tapping. What could
that
be? Surveying her surroundings, she leaped up and skittered to the front door. As she cracked it open, the professor pushed past her and entered the cottage.

“Not ready to begin? We have no time to waste.” He stood and tapped his foot. “
You knew we’d start your first class this afternoon.”

She gasped as he stared over at the rumpled bedding. “Why were you sleeping?
”

Angie stepped back and swallowed hard. “
I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Give me ten minutes to set up.”

“Not exactly what I’d hoped to hear.” He strode across the room and stood by the table where all her painting supplies rested. He glared at the worktable. “I had hoped you would have your area prepared. I realize you just arrived, but our time is short. I will return in 7 minutes, don’t disappoint.”

Seven minutes?
Don’t disappoint
? Angie wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the closed door. Was she in trouble already? She flew to the artist’s worktable and grabbed up a small brush and three tubes of color—red, yellow, and blue. How could she really get ready? She had no idea what the assignment was.

He returned within 5 minutes. “Let’s begin.”

Angie nodded.

“Your first lesson will be an assessment of your artistic level. I need to identify any gaps. The use of color is the key to a perfect palette. You must instinctively create a rainbow of drama by knowing how to mix the perfect combination of tints.”

She stared at the tubes of paint.

At the museum, s
he’d been intrigued by how he added passion to his art with the depth of color and its placement on the canvas. She envied his ability to capture life in his pallet choices to engage the viewer. Her gaze moved up and down the three rows of paint colors he had laid out for her use. Some shades she’d never seen before, others were familiar.

“
Today you will prepare two exhibits for me. The first will be a simple tree in the field. Use only three colors-Cadmium Yellow Medium, Pthalocyanine Blue, and Alizarin Crimson. Next, prepare an ocean sky with white billowing clouds and a rough sea. Again, only use three colors—Naples Yellow, Alizarin Crimson, and Cerulean Blue. Understand?”

“
Gotcha. No problem. Anything else?”

He smiled and retraced his steps back to the front door. “Now that you ask, yes, there are requirements. Use the wet-in-wet technique for both exhibits and pay close attention to your shadowing technique. You may elect to draw a sketch first, but be mindful of your time.”

Angie caught her breath. “My time? How much time do I have to complete the two exhibits?”

The professor opened the door and stepped outside. His
eyelids narrowed. The smirk on his face said it all—he would
not
allow much time.

“I’ll see you in sixty minutes. Come knock on the kitchen door if you finish early.”

Finish early? Sixty minutes? She dashed back to the table. She must locate the colors he’d mentioned. She couldn’t fail this class before the first day was over. James Turner, the taskmaster, had spoken.

#

Angie glanced at the clock. Her hour would be up in three minutes. She turned to study her two exhibits. Not bad really. She’d never worked so hard or so quickly. A knock on the door returned her attention to the professor. She scurried over to the front door and flung it open.

The professor stood on her small stoop. He held a tray with two wine glasses, a carafe of white wine, and a plate of fresh fruit and finger sandwiches. “Ready?”
he asked.

Geez. He’s delivering more food. We just ate an hour ago. Men eat a lot. She backed away from the door
, and he glided into the cottage.

“Assignment complete?” He asked.

“I’ll never be ready, but the time is up, right?”

“Yes, it is.”

He carried the silver tray into the cottage and set it on the small oval coffee table in front of the fireplace. Glancing over at her exhibits, he cleared his throat. “Come, let’s have refreshments. Then we’ll spend time discussing your first class assignment.”

Angie’s stomach knotted. He wouldn’t wait if the watercolors were satisfactory, would he? “Please, Professor, I can’t wait. Will you give me your critique first?”

He flashed a grin and strode to her exhibits. “All right, if you insist.” He picked up the painting of the tree. He reviewed her work as if reading a novel. He stood silent for an eternity. “As you know, with wet-in-wet, the process of applying pigment to wet paper produces both soft undefined shapes to slightly blurred marks. That’s the desired result of this technique.”

Angie held her breath.

“Depending on how wet the paper is, one achieves varying presentation. The wet-in-wet technique can be applied over existing washes, provided they are thoroughly dry. This intensifies the effect of the color.”

S
he waited, hands balled into fists.

He held up her first exhibit and pointed.
“This tree has all the soft marks made by painting wet-in-wet. I see great subtle background regions in your painting. Your first exhibit shows you have an expert understanding of the basic technique.”

Angie let out her breath and grinned. “You like it?”

He cocked his head toward her and chuckled, “Yes, very much. And the color palette used to draw in the viewer and create a three-dimensional feel is exquisite.”

Angie’s attention focused on her
second exhibit. “And the ocean sky?”

The professor replaced the first exhibit on to the table. He stepped over to the sky watercolor and gazed down at the second painting. Then he picked it up and leaned
toward the late afternoon light outside the window.

“I love watercolor as my preferred medium,” he said.  “It allows all types of expression. It’s a relaxed and unpredictable art form.”

She nodded.

“You captured the essence of a raging storm at sea. Your ability to put energy into the painting is
impressive. In essence, you captured the watercolor’s free forms and flowing nature. Excellent, my dear, I’m impressed.”

Her
hands trembled. Excellent? Had he said
excellent
? “Thank you, professor. I’m overwhelmed.”

“James, remember?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to call you professor during class time.”

“As you wish, it
does add professionalism to our study.”

He placed the second exhibit back on the table and slid closer to her. “You owe me no thanks. It is your talent we are assessing. I am thrilled to see
this good start. Now, can we eat?”

Angie
nodded. “Yes, suddenly my appetite returned.” She sank into the sofa next to the professor and relaxed her clinched fists.

“A toast to my next protégé.”

Protégé? What a wonderful sound that had. Her life as a trophy-wife ended today. She had a gift. Someone with a greater gift recognized it.

Chapter 23

The following day, Jonathan arrived home on time as promised. As he pushed the front door ajar,
Mister Tubbs greeted him with his tail whirling like a prop on a small airplane. “Hey, Little Man, you must be hungry.”

His companion’s dinner and t
heir evening walk completed, Mister Tubbs settled onto the living room sofa for a nap. A hard rock formed in Jonathon’s stomach. Not sure if he were hungry or just lonely, he wandered into the kitchen for solace. He searched the refrigerator and freezer, but found nothing enticing. He opened cupboard after cupboard with despair. Nothing looked good enough to eat.

His next alterative was delivery. Would he prefer pizza, Chinese, Mexican, or a burger? Angie
collected menus on the refrigerator from restaurant services in the area. With a decision made, the call completed, and his hand gripping a cold bottle of Heineken, he relocated to his home office. 

Mister
Tubbs appeared at the office doorway. Jonathan bent down and said, “Feeling lonely? Join me. This area is designated
men only
.”

Mister
Tubbs raced into the room and located a sleeping spot on a leather chair near the window. He settled into his favorite sleeping position and drifted off to doggie dreamland. Jonathan shook his head. If only life were that simple.

H
e’d attempted to contact Angie all afternoon. Was her cell phone turned off? He hoped to reach her before bedtime. Was she all right?  Sadness rained down on him. How much he missed her, and how important her presence was. Maybe Vicki had another phone number for her. He picked up the desk phone and punched in the shortcut to Vicki’s cell phone.

“Hey Vicki, it’s Jonathan. Got a minute?”

“For you, I’ve got several minutes. How are you doing?”

He drew in a breath that almost exploded his chest. “Never better, this life of mine is perfect.”

Vicki chuckled. “Now how are you, really?”

“Not so good. Angie’s only been gone two days
, and I’m already losing my mind. I’ve called her several times. All my calls go straight to voicemail. Have you spoken to her today?” He held his breath.

“No. She hasn’t called me today
, and I can’t reach her.”

“You met this
Professor Turner. What did you think of him? Is he for real or …?”

Silence.

“Vicki?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Susie’s been in his class all semester. She loves him. Her version of the good ol’ professor is he’s kind, generous, humble, and very gifted.”

Jonathan sat up as if his back needed a rub. “What? You don’t know? What are you saying?”

“Call it a sixth sense. Call me crazy. I can’t put my finger on it. He seems too good to be true. I’m worried. He may be a serial woman-addict.”

“A what?” Maybe Vicki had been watching too much TV.

“You know. Men like her dad. Like my ex, Patrick. They’ve never seen a beautiful woman they didn’t want to have. The chase is their thrill and once the woman falls, they look for a new victim.”

Jonathan choked.
A serial woman-addict?
He’d never heard that term before. But he knew a lot of guys that fit that description. “Are you sure?”

“No. I’m not sure. It’s a feeling. When it comes to men, my instincts are not often wrong these days. After years of mistakes, I had to develop my own danger-radar. It sounds
silly, but my danger-map turned yellow in Knoxville. When the hairs on the nape of my neck tingled, I took notice. When I saw
that
over -confident
look
, heard that flowery flattery, watched that certain gate that said,
I can have it all
, my map turned bright red. And honestly, after spending a few hours with that man, my radar moved to glow an F4 Red.”

He
stiffened. This situation sounded much worse than he had realized. He might lose Angie forever.

“I tried to talk her out of going
,” Vicki said.

“
I tried to talk her out of going, too. But my approach was pretty bad. She’s strong-willed. To tell her
no
was futile. I guess she felt I treated her like a child.”

“You did.”

“Thanks for the honesty. I’m not sure what to do next.”

“If you want to save your marriage, get an expert to help. Find someone who specializes in marriage counseling.”

He stretched and placed his feet on top of the desk. “What good is a marriage specialist now? She’s gone.”

“This time
it’s about you. I’d take this period to learn more about yourself and how to better interact with Angie.”

“And then?”

“Keep in touch with her when she’s available. Then when she gets home, practice what you’ve learned.”

“You women all think the same. Gina found me an expert.”

“And?”

“I called and when they offered an appointment, I chickened-out. I’ll call back.”
Jonathan shifted the phone to his other ear and doodled Angie’s name on his desk-pad.

“I’m glad. I think you’re doing the right thing. If I can help in any way, let me know.”

“Call me if you hear from her. I’ll do the same for you.”

“No problem. I’ll keep in touch. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll try. Thanks again.” He slumped in his desk chair. Why would he need a marriage counselor and not Angie? She couldn’t possibly be right all the time, could she?

#

The following morning, Jonathon dialed Doctor Stephanie King’s office. “This is Jonathan Rhodes. We spoke yesterday. Do you still have an opening with Doctor King this afternoon?

“Would you be a new patient?”

“Yes.”

“The initial appointment normally runs around two hours. She could see you at three o’clock today. Would that time fit your schedule?”

“I’ll make it fit. See you at 3.”

A familiar rock returned to his stomach. He hated doctor visits.

#

Jonathan entered the professional building and found the gold plated directory of offices. He searched for
Doctor King. Her suites, A and B, were listed on the fourteenth floor—business must be good.

He rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor and crept toward the door marked 1401-A & B. First impressions and confidence were paramount. Into the office he went with head held erect
, and a smile plastered on his lips. He marched straight to the glass sign-in window. “I’m Mister Rhodes. I have a three o’clock appointment with Doctor King.”

The receptionist,
appearing to be barely eighteen, glanced up, grabbed a clipboard filled with intake forms, and handed it to him without as much as a smile. “Take a seat. Fill out all these pages and bring the paper forms back to me completed. I need your insurance cards and photo I.D.”

Well, no professional staff in this joint. He’d comply with all of her requests in silent protest.
He stared around the sitting area. Why was the waiting room empty? Successful doctors always had a full waiting area. He also noted that no one had exited from the sacred door leading to Doctor King’s private office. How good could she be? She had
no
patients.

Fifteen minutes later, t
he sacred door opened and a tall, lean blond about forty years old took a step toward him. She wore a black Armani suit and four-inch black heels. Her ears adorned with pearls. Well perhaps her fees were fat enough to make up for the lack of crowds in the waiting area.

“
Mister Rhodes, it’s nice to meet you.” She stretched out her arm in greeting. Her eyes wide and her stare direct. Had he been analyzed already? His eye twitched. Time to turn and run? “Nice to meet you as well, Doctor King.”

“Please come in.”

He followed her through the sacred door as if he were the lone man walking on death row. As the entry closed behind him, he almost lost his lunch.

He
surveyed the office. The cliché
couch
was not present. Good, he wouldn’t be asked to lay back and spill his guts. There were two armchairs in front of her dark oak desk. He spied a casual sitting area in the corner of the room. Note to self—a spot to avoid.  He gulped and took a seat in front of the desk. He much preferred leather to all those flowery soft-seated chairs waiting in the corner.

“It’s nice to meet you,
Mister Rhodes. May I call you Jonathan, or do you go by Jon?”

He glared at her. He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Angie and her crazy actions. “I go by Jonathan.”

“Good. Today we’ll spend some time getting to know each other.”

He shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. “Yeah. That’s no problem. How much do you charge?”

Doctor King pulled a sheet of paper out of her desk drawer and handed it to him. “My prices are listed here. Today, the charge will be $200. If we decide to continue our sessions, each hour is billed at $150.”

If
they
decided? Interesting. At least her billing hours were less than he charged.

“What brings you here today?”
She asked.

He
stared at her diploma framed and hung on the wall behind her desk. “My wife and I seem to be having a small problem.”

She
cocked her head and remained silent.

“I guess the best way to describe our current situation would be to say she packed up and left. She claimed to be taking painting classes in Tennessee.”

“Why Tennessee?”

“Her story
is that the only instructor talented enough to make her a great watercolor artist teaches at the University of Tennessee.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“Look, I wasn’t born yesterday. There are great artists right here in Chicago. She’s mad at me, thinks I neglect her, and I’m getting punished.”

“Do you think you neglect her?”

Jonathan continued to stare at Doctor King’s diploma. Why had he come here? This mess wasn’t his fault. Angie was the one who should be sitting in the hot seat. She had everything a woman could want or need—a brownstone mansion to live in, someone to clean it for her, charge accounts open all over town, friends to gossip with, and a husband who wanted her to have it all. Now here he was, alone and sitting in an office being asked what he’d done wrong.

“I work long hours. I’m an attorney with larger-than-life clients and a boss that expects me to bill at a higher rate every year
.” He made a steeple with his hands and paused.

“Go on.”

“My time is growing short,” he continued. “If I’m not an equity partner in the next twelve months, it may never happen. I’ll get passed over, and my career will be at a dead-end.”

“How does your career impact your wife?”

He stared down at his shoes. “Sometimes she gets less of my time than she wants.” Then he raised his voice as he returned her stare. “But I don’t get any time for myself, either. It’s always work or Angie. What about me?”

Doctor
King nodded and asked, “Have you ever spoken to your wife about your goals? Your concerns?”

“
She knows I want to be partner. The rest she wouldn’t understand.”

“I see. You’ve share
d your feelings with her, and she’s not capable of understanding? Why do you think that is?”

Jonathan jumped up from his chair. “Look, I think this is a mistake. I can’t see how a marriage can be fixed unless both people are here. My wife’s gone. This is just a waste of time.”

She remained silent.

“Why don’t you say something?”

“Jonathon, I’ve found that in any relationship, both separate and joint counseling are required. The results are dependent upon both parties. We can begin with you and when your wife returns, she can join us. It is up to you. If you want to improve your marriage, I can help. If it is not what you truly want, no one can help.”

He stood motionless. What did he want out of life? He’d put his career first for a long time. How much did he still love her? How well did he even know her? Maybe he should find out. “I want to make a decision on this marriage. If it’s over, it’s over. If it can be saved, I need to figure out if that’s what I want. Can you help me?”

“Yes. I can help, if you’re ready for hard work and honesty.”

He
slipped back down in the office chair. “Let’s get started.”

Three hours
later, he arrived home exhausted and confused. He greeted Mister Tubbs and sank into the living room sofa. His fist curled around a cold beer from the refrigerator.

Doctor
King gave him an assignment to draft a list of the ten things he liked about his wife and ten that he found difficult to deal with. Easy to make, he would work on the list after dinner.

What had Angie done today? Why hadn’t she called him?” Surely
, she wasn’t waiting for him to call her again. He’d tried twice and she refused to answer. After all,
she
was the one who took off.